


Making Her Own Way (Just Like Her Father)

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bodyguard Mick, Crime, Drama, F/M, Felicity Grew Up With Her Dad, Hacking, Mick-For-All, Morally Gray Felicity, Mystery, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10021460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: "She gestures to the screen, tilting her head back to grin at him.“Michael Rory? Are you sure, Felicity? He seems a bit… Unstable.”A smirk overtakes her face, and she presses her lips together, nodding slowly.“He definitely is. But I think that might be exactly what we need.”"





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shoutout to pansexual-fandom-queen, who has brainstormed this story with me, and helped me turn it from a basic concept into an actual story. She's a completely fabulous person, for the record.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own any of the CW shows or characters portrayed in this story. I just wanted to play with them for awhile, and I'll get them back in good condition... More or less.

_“Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.” Donna struggles to keep her voice even as she takes in the sight in front of her._

_“Noah?” She prompts, when he doesn’t respond. He refuses to meet her eyes, continuing to shove clothes into a duffle bag._

_“Don’t you dare just ignore me!” She forces herself between him and the bag, crossing her arms firmly over her chest._

_He sighs, wrinkled shirt still in hand, and a burst of victory washes over her._

_“I’m sorry, Donna. I have to go.”_

_“Why?” Her voice cracks, and she curses, pressing her lips together to ward off tears. “Why leave? Why now? Am I not good enough? Pretty enough? Smart enough-“_

_“No, no, no, sweetheart. Nothing like that, I promise.” She sags against the bed in relief, relief tempered slightly by the fact that he’s clearly still leaving._

_A horrible thought occurs to her._

_“Are you… Cheating on me?”_

_The denial is out of his mouth before she can even fully finish her sentence. “Of course not. As cliché as it is to say, I’m afraid it truly is me, not you.”_

_He reaches around her, grabbing the bag, and stuffing the shirt into it, zipping it shut._

_“What about you?”_

_For a long moment, she thinks he won’t answer. He stands stiffly, jaw set._

_She’s fully prepared to start yelling at him, begging him to explain himself, when he sighs once more, shoulders sagging._

_“I’m wanted.”_

_She frowns._

_“By who? Who could possibly want you more than me?” They’re probably brunette, some skinny twenty-year old with long legs, and-_

_“Donna.” She pauses, considering his words, rolling them over in her mind._

_Oh._

_“You-you’re a criminal?” A whole new sort of rage washes over her, and she quickly wipes the tears from her eyes. “Wha-What are you wanted for?”_

_“Hacking,” he answers grimly, eyes locked on the door behind her. “At least, that’s what they call it. I prefer to think of it as earning a living, but… The FBI doesn’t like that. So, I have to go.”_

_A thousand thoughts war for dominance in her head, but one stands out above the rest._

_“And you weren’t going to bring us with you?”_

_For the first time since she’s caught him, he looks at her, expression a bit incredulous._

_“As if you’d agree to a life like that!” She holds his gaze, and he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Donna, you deserve a life full of elegant clothing, fame, fortune…”_

_“And what about Felicity?” She challenges._

_Pain flickers through his eyes, deep and burning, at the mention of their three year old daughter. “Felicity deserves a life free from my chains.”_

_“What Felicity deserves,” she nearly growls, taking a step toward him, “is her father.”_

_He exhales heavily, eyes falling shut. She can’t find the words to describe all of the emotions that flicker across his face, but a few stand out: Frustration, confusion, uncertainty, and panic. Finally, he opens his eyes, studying her carefully._

_“You’d actually give up your whole life, to live like a criminal?”_

_It should scare her how easily the answer comes, but something in her settles, as she senses him caving._

_“To be with you? I’d do anything.”_

_-_-_-_-_- 19 Years Later-_-_-_-_-_

The room is dark, but for the almost painful glow coming off of the screens.

However, the woman is unbothered. She’s hunched over, crimson nails flying furiously across the keyboard, studying the faces before her.

“Bryce Wilson. Drunk and disorderly, aggravated assault… Nope. Wife and kids at home. Next.” She closes the file, dragging it into the corner of the screen, and opens the next one.

“Jefferson Rodman. Assault with a deadly weapon, attempted murder… No known family. Hm. Promising. Oh, but you smoke. No, thank you. If I want to choke on the air around me, I’ll call you, don’t worry.”

Lips pursed, she moves on.

“Michael ‘Mick’ Rory. History of arson, assault, theft… Murder. Definitely no family to speak of. This time, they’ve got you on assaulting an officer.” She clicks her tongue. “Did quite a number on him, too. You, my friend, are going away for life. Unless I have something to say about it.”

“Talking to yourself again, Sweetheart?” An impossibly fond voice cuts in, and the woman swears softly.

“Dad! What have I told you about sneaking up on me?” He chuckles, stepping forward to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m so sorry,” he assures her, just a trace of teasing in his tone, “but I couldn’t help myself. So, have you found anyone?”

She gestures to the screen, tilting her head back to grin at him.

“Michael Rory? Are you sure, Felicity? He seems a bit… Unstable.”

A smirk overtakes her face, and she presses her lips together, nodding slowly.

“He definitely is. But I think that might be exactly what we need.”


	2. Bodyguard For Hire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick gets an unusual job opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!! I was completely overwhelmed to the feedback on the first chapter. To be honest, I was expecting one review, maybe two at most. I was floating on a cloud every single time I saw a new comment.
> 
> Okay, enough gushing!!! You guys are here for the story. As promised, meet Mick Rory!

The familiar stench of sweat, iron, musty beer, and utter rage drifts through Mick’s nose even before his eyes open. At first, he doesn’t move, just lays on whatever uncomfortable surface he’s been dropped on, willing his head to stop pounding.

Ah, jail. They’ll move him to prison soon, after the stunt he pulled. (He can only imagine how disappointed Leonard would be. “We don’t go after cops, Mick. Not unless we have to.” The way Mick figures it, the guy was in his way. He _did_ have to. Lenny wouldn’t think so, though.) But apparently transport hasn’t arrived yet, because he doesn’t have to see a thing to know the difference, and this is definitely jail.

The sound of footsteps catches his ear, drawing closer, stopping right in front of him.

He makes no move to acknowledge them. If the cops want a little chit-chat, he can just take another nap.

“Rory!” A sharp voice snapped. Oh, yes. Detective Lance. Nice guy, for a cop, anyway. Mick ignores him.

“Hey! Wake up. It’s time to go.” Mick groans, rolling away from him.

“If they want me, they can come get me.”

There’s a beat of silence, before the Detective grits out, “Actually, you’re being released.”

Now, Mick’s definitely awake. His eyes pop open, and he sits up so quickly, the room blurs for a moment, before settling into focus.

“What are ya talking about, Detective?” He growls, watching Lance for any sign that he’s messing with him. Mick’s never much liked being messed with, although the Detective doesn’t seem like the type.

The other man sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed together.

 _Oh, he’s mad,_ Mick thinks, more than a touch gleefully.

“Here’s the thing, Rory. I don’t know what kind of strings you pulled, but apparently, you’ve got some pretty big connections. ‘Cause the officer? He ain’t pressing charges, and all of our evidence? It’s gone. We don’t have a thing on you.”

The words sink in slowly, and Mick weighs them in disbelief. For a split-second, he wonders if Leonard-but no. Of course not. This isn’t his style, anyway. If he was the one behind this, he’d have just gotten Mick out of there. He wouldn’t have worried about evidence.

“So,” Lance clears his throat, gesturing to the door of the cell, “on your feet. You’re free to go.”

Mick stands slowly, taking the time to enjoy the Detective’s scowl.

“Well, thank ya,” he drawls, nodding to Lance. “Can I get my stuff?”

Lance nods, gesturing for Mick to follow him. They stop at his desk, and he opens a box, handing each thing to Mick.

“Wallet, a five, keys, and one ring. Don’t spend it all in one place,” the Detective quips, but Mick ignores him, shoving his stuff into his pocket.

“Where’s my lighter, Detective?”

Lance raises his eyebrows.

“Lighter?”

“Yeah. Lighter. It was solid gold, ‘bout this big,” he indicates with his thumb and index finger, “and it was beautiful. I want it back.”

The detective shakes his head, frowning.

“Look, this is all we’ve got for you. If you had a lighter, maybe you lost it before you came here. Now, if I were you, I’d get out of here before one of my colleagues decides they don’t appreciate you getting’ off scot-free.”

For a moment, Mick sees red. He considers showing Lance exactly how he feels about them losing his lighter, but he can practically hear Snart in his head, clicking his tongue. _Let it go, Mick. Chill. You can steal another lighter later._

With a sigh, he nods, making his way to the doorway.

The sun blinds him for a moment when he steps outside, a stark contrast to the low, artificial light of the police station.

When his eyes finally adjust, they settle on a dark car with tinted windows, parked right in front of the building, and the man standing beside it.

Mick fights the urge to laugh, because this guy apparently went to the school of “Trying too hard to look like a villain.” Tall and narrow, with thinning white hair combed back over his head, and a dark brown suit. He smiles at Mick, reminding him a little of Leonard during a heist. This man pulled the strings to let him go, he realizes. But it wasn’t a gift.

Before he can turn to run, the man clears his throat.

“Mister Rory, we’ve been waiting for you for nearly an hour. You could at least do us the honor of saying ‘Thank you’.”

Mick scoffs, looking around pointedly.

“Us? You got a mouse in your pocket, Suit?”

The man grins at that, as if he was counting on the question, and opens the back door to the car. Mick isn’t ashamed to say his mouth falls open a little at the sight in front of him: A stunning woman, with dark brown hair, bright red lips, and a sunny smile. She waves at him, and he turns back to the older man.

“You got my attention. Talk fast.”

The smile he gets at that is more like a grimace, but the woman beams, shooting Suit a smug look he studiously ignores.

“As you’ve probably figured out, Mister Rory, I pulled the strings for your release.”

Mick rolls his eyes.

“No, I had no idea. What do you want?”

“We’re in need of your services.” He gestures to the woman, and adds, “My daughter needs a bodyguard.”

For a moment, Mick thinks he must have heard wrong. He isn’t exactly the kind of guy people trust with anything, or anyone, much less their daughters. (And with good reason, he has to admit, visions of smoke and flame dancing at the back of his mind.)

“Excuse me?”

The woman cuts in here, scooting forward slightly, wincing at the effort.

_Interesting._

“Let’s just say I upset some people who… Really don’t like being upset.”

“And you want me to protect you?” Mick scoffs, shaking his head. Must be out of their minds.

Instead of answering, the two glance around warily, scanning the area. Mick follows their gaze, but aside from a few pedestrians strolling up and down the road, and a single cop by the doorway, there’s no one.

“People are staring,” Suit finally says, lowering his voice, “so let me make this simple. You come with us, and we’ll pay you generously for your services. If you don’t? We both know you’ll be back here in a week.”

Ignoring the dig, Mick steps closer, eyes narrow.

“How generously? What are we talking about, here?”

Chuckling, Suit reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a thin stack of cash. A protest forms on Mick’s tongue-there can't be more than six bills, total- before he notices the amount on them, and he swears the world sways for an instant.

“You’re kidding.”

“You’d be paid this weekly, of course. My daughter is very precious to me, and I’ll pay well for her protection.”

It’s… More than Mick has made in a long time, to be sure. For a moment, he considers. (Leonard would be proud of him.) Finally, he settles on the most important question of all.

“Will I still get to light stuff on fire?”

Suit grins, just a touch triumphantly, lowering his voice to barely a whisper.

“To be honest, Mister Rory? We’re counting on it.”

And really, there’s only one thing left to say after that.

“When do I start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felicity with dark hair? Why, yes, indeed! 
> 
> By the way, I should have said it in the first chapter, but this is a prompt fill for the Mick-For-All prompt exchange. The prompt, of course, is "bodyguard." 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Until the next chapter, my loves!


	3. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few things are established, and the story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys, I promise I'm still alive. I knew this would be the tricky chapter, because I didn't have it plotted quite as well as my other chapters in my head, but I didn't expect all of my writing inspiration to vanish. I definitely didn't expect my life to get incredibly busy right when said inspiration disappearance happened, making it incredibly easy to put writing on the back-burner. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm absolutely loving all of the feedback this story is getting. Honestly, you guys are amazing. 
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long to get to you all, but hopefully the chapter makes up for it.

There’s something comforting about coming home, Felicity notes, leaning back in her seat. Maybe it’s the memory of growing up on the run, without a real home to come to, but she always breathes a sigh of relief when the house comes into view.

It’s a nice place, which doesn’t hurt. A job a few years back ended up a lot more lucrative than expected, and now they’re the proud owners of-there’s no other word for it-a mansion. It has a bit of a creepy vibe-wrought iron fences, dark shutters, and several towering trees around the property-but maybe that’s part of the charm. It feels like its own little universe, where the real world can’t touch her.  

In the real world… She shudders, pushing away the memories, turning to study their passenger.

He’s staring out the window, clearly tracing their path.

_Trying to make sure you can leave if you want to?_

She nearly laughs, but covers it with a cough. A sharp glance from him tells her it doesn’t work.

“Something funny?”

Apparently, he thinks he’s scary. (And, okay, he is. She can’t deny that. But she isn’t exactly worried. As long as they’re paying him, he won’t lay a hand on them.) It takes her a moment, but finally, she settles on a response.

“Just didn’t take you for a fan of scenery.”

He scoffs.

“I ain’t. Just making sure I can get out of here.”

Well, at least he’s honest, Felicity concedes with a smile. His gaze returns to the window, and hers returns to her home.

“We’re here,” her father announces, slowing the car to a stop. His fingers drum against the wheel for a moment, before he peers into the rearview mirror. “Mister Rory, would you be so kind as to help my daughter with her chair? I have some business to attend to before I join you both in the house.” He holds up his phone in silent explanation.

“Chair?” Mick frowns, glancing at Felicity curiously. Right. They haven’t explained this part to him. Cheeks warming slightly, she clears her throat.

“Wheelchair. It’s… Kind of a new development. That’s why I need a bodyguard.” He raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn’t respond otherwise, and she’s not sure if she’s relieved or not. “It’s in the back,” she adds, and he nods.

“One sec.”

She doesn’t turn to watch him as he goes to get it, tempting as it is; she’s not sure her poor back could take it today. Still, she tracks the sounds: Him shutting the car door, (not slamming, but with more force than she’s used to,) his clomping footsteps, the back door opening, and the wheelchair scratching against the carpet in the back.

He opens her door, the wheelchair open a few inches away. “Need help?” He checks, and she shakes her head.

“Nope! Just scoot it as close to the car as you can, okay?” He does, and she begins the slow process of sliding herself toward the chair. He shifts a couple of times from standing so long, but to his credit, he never complains. Finally, she settles in with a groan, and smiles brightly.

“Now, lead the way, fearless protector.” He scoffs, and she grins innocently in return. She rolls down the driveway, and he follows a moment later, after shutting the car door.

“Nice wheels,” he calls after her, and she can’t keep the grin off her face. She still vividly remembers her frustration when she first got the chair. It was too drab for her liking, so with paintbrush and stickers in hand, she’s transformed it. Now the metal is covered in pink and blue stripes, and the back has so many rhinestones, she’s lost count.

_Not practical,_ her dad had complained.

_Not miserable,_ she’d replied, and that was that.

When they reach the door, he slips ahead of her, pulling it open. She frowns. “That should have been locked.” Her stomach sinks, and he reaches to his hip, before scowling.

“No gun,” he grumbles. “Stay behind me.” Normally, she might have complained, but under the circumstances… Yeah, staying behind him sounds like a pretty good idea.

He steps through the doorway, and she follows after a moment, trying to swallow the knot in her throat.

Obviously, nothing’s wrong. Her dad just forgot to lock the door. _The way he never has in your l i f e,_ her brain points out. _You aren’t helping,_ she shoots back, before catching herself. Right, arguing with herself probably isn’t a good idea, no matter how nervous she is.

Everything looks normal inside, but she can’t shake the chill under her skin.

A scratching sound draws her eyes behind the couch, panic scratching at her bones. _No._ There can’t be anything in her house. Not here. Especially not _him, not again-_

“You got a cat?” Mick cuts in gruffly, and she opens her mouth to reply, but the words stick. She shakes her head instead, silently pleading with him to help.

For half a second, his eyes dart to the door behind them, and she can’t breathe. Then, he turns back, gesturing for her to roll back a little. She obeys, hands shaking, biting her lip so fiercely she worries it might bleed. _This isn’t right. This isn’t right._

She nearly reaches the door when the shot echoes through the room, embedding itself in the wood not an inch from her head.

Someone screams, and she thinks it’s probably her.

Mick glances at her, scanning her quickly, before _lunging_ over the couch, in the direction of the shooter.

She probably shouldn’t be surprised-she read his file, she knows he’s reckless, that’s _why_ she chose him-but this is ridiculous. He isn’t armed. What does he plan to do to a guy with a gun?

A quiet groan from behind the couch draws her attention, and she frowns, cursing her blocked vision. That groan sounded… Familiar. If she could see him, she could place him.

The gun skitters across the floor, and Felicity instinctively jerks back, bumping against the still-open door with a thud.

Grunts and groans follow, and Felicity doesn’t have to see this part to know that punches are being exchanged. If only she could see who was winning. She grips the wheels of her chair so tightly her knuckles begin to ache.

In time, the grunt begin to sound alike: The familiar one’s, not Mick’s. A sigh of relief escapes her unbidden.

_She’s safe._

Familiar footsteps come through the doorway, and Felicity glances toward him. “Careful, Daddy. Someone’s here, and they attacked me. It’s not-“ she can’t bring herself to say the name, even now, “-the one who put me in the chair, but they did shoot at me. Mick stopped them, but-“

His expression is unreadable as he interrupts. “I know.”

It doesn’t make sense to her, but suddenly, the noises behind the couch stop. A moment later, and Mick stands, gripping the back of someone’s neck, bringing him with him.

Sure enough, seeing his face is the reminder Felicity needs. “Mark? Why… Why would you attack me?”

He’d done a few jobs for them during the months Felicity was recovering, and learning how to use the wheelchair. Nothing big, just pickups and deliveries, but she’d come to enjoy his company.

The question hangs in the air, Mark crossing his arms shakily. He isn’t answering, apparently.

Mick’s face is incredibly grim when he speaks. “Because Daddy Dearest told him to.”

Rolling her eyes, Felicity looks back at her father, waiting for the denial that never comes. Instead, he looks at her, face still carefully blank. “Forgive the theatrics, but I had to be sure.”

For a moment, Felicity worries that she’s going to empty her stomach then and there, but the moment passes, and she doesn’t. She supposes she should be grateful. “Be sure of _what?”_

He avoids her eyes, turning back to Mick. “To be sure that you wouldn’t abandon my little girl the first time danger appears.”

Felicity’s mind darts back to the moment of hesitation, when Mick had looked at the door as if about to run away, and she sets her jaw. “And what if he had? Was Mark just supposed to kill me?”

Hurt flickers on her father’s face when he turns back to her, the first sign of real emotion, and guilt swells up in her. “Of course not,” he replies, and she feels tears pricking at her eyes. What was she thinking? He would never let her get hurt, not intentionally. He continues, nodding to Mick, “He was supposed to kill _you._ ”

If this surprises Mick, he doesn’t show it, just scoffs. “Course he was.”

Closing the door behind him, Felicity’s father nods. “Don’t worry, there won’t be any more tests. At least not from me. Our lives are another test altogether, but I trust you now. Still,” he waves a hand, making his way to the cabinet next to the couch, “I understand if this was too much for you. If you want out, Miter Rory… Last chance.” He drew a bottle of wine from the cabinet, holding it up in a clear offer.

Suddenly, Felicity realizes that he could take the chance, leaving her alone with her father. And she definitely doesn’t trust a dangerous stranger more than her father, it’s just… After the day she’s had… There’s no way to end the thought that doesn’t leave her sick with guilt, so she simply hopes.

Mick considers for a moment, glancing between her, her father, the door, and the bottle, before shrugging. “If you keep paying me like this, I ain’t going anywhere.” He taps the bottle sharply, before adding, “But you better get something better for me to drink. Beer’s nice.”

Her father smiles, nodding easily. “Of course, Mister Rory. I’ll have it by the morning. Now, Felicity, Darling, you’ve had a rough day. Aren’t you a bit tired?”

Even though it’s early, she realizes he’s right; she’s almost too drained to move. Nodding, she starts to roll herself across the floor. “I’m headed to bed.” Glancing at Mick, she adds, “We’ll get started in the morning.”

Clearing his throat, her father adds, “And of course, Mister Rory, you’ll follow her. The room right next to hers is yours, to do with as you please. Simply make sure nothing happens to her in the night.”

Mick nods, and the two make their way down the hallway, heading to their rooms.

When she finally closes the door behind her, she shudders. Normally, her room is her safe-haven, but tonight? Tonight, every shadow seems ready to strike.

She already knows rest won’t come easily tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed!!


	4. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mick and Felicity have to establish some boundaries, and a plan starts to hatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! Believe it or not, I'm actually updating! I'm sorry it took so long. I really, really wanted to do something in this chapter, and when I couldn't figure out a way to make it work, I got frustrated. So, I shelved this project for a little while. But I'm back now!! Hopefully you lovelies enjoy!!!! 
> 
> Disclaimer: No.

Waking up in a mansion is a lot different than waking up in a prison, Mick has to admit. Silk sheets, fluffy pillows… Even a dainty little alarm clock. (Well, until he threw it against the wall for waking him.)

It’s more luxury than he’s ever had in his life. Maybe that’s why he’s so uncomfortable. Everything is too soft, too fancy. He’s used to a couch, if he’s lucky. As much as he loves the idea of the finer things in life, he isn’t really cut out for them.

And that’s enough soul-searching stuff for one morning, he decides with a grunt. Or one year.

Rolling over, he pushes himself up, and nearly rolls out of bed. There’s a closet beside him, and he opens it up, before scoffing. Suits? Seriously? Rows and rows of suits, in blue, black, and brown. “You gotta be kidding,” he mutters.

Just before he caves to the clothes he brought, his eyes catch on something in the very back: A pair of jeans, with a flame-shaped patch on the knee. With a chuckle, he pulls them out. Quickly changing into them, and the shirt from the day before, he decides it’s time for breakfast.

He’s barely out of the room when he hears the laughter, coming from down the hall. The girl’s, he notes, following the sound.

They’re in the living room, the girl settled on her chair, Suit on the couch, and they’re locked in an intense conversation. When he walks in, they quickly go silent, and the girl grins at him.

“Good morning, Sunshine! Get plenty of sleep?”

“No.” She only scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“Poor guy.”

“Mister Rory,” Suit cuts in, eyes narrow, “I don’t recall that being one of your wardrobe options.”

Before Mick can answer, the girl shakes her head. “Oh, that was me! I ordered them. Come on,” she adds, when it looks like he might protest, “he’s protecting me. The least we can do is let him wear stuff he likes.”

“Felicity-“ The man begins, before sighing. “Very well.”

Somehow, Mick isn’t surprised that she ordered the pants. He’s more surprised that Suit slipped, and gave him an actual name: Felicity. If he were more poetic, he’d probably say it suits her, or something like that. But he ain’t, so he just files it away. Not that he plans on using it.

“So, Wheels, what do we eat around here? Caviar?” She flinches, pursing her lips.

“Listen, I’ve heard about your… Nickname thing. And I get it, okay? You don’t do names. So, you’re going to give me a nickname. And that’s fine. But I’m really, really _not_ fine with your nickname for me being because of…” She gestures to her chair. “This.”

Not that he normally cares about people’s feelings, but that wasn’t supposed to be insulting. He just goes by the first thing he notices about people, and he never changes it, even if they ask.

But…

He swears he can feel every single burn scar, weighing heavy on his skin. And maybe, just maybe, he understands.

“Glasses, then.” It isn’t a question, and it isn’t an apology, but somehow it feels like both, much to his surprise.

Immediately, the discomfort clears from her face, and she grins. “Glasses,” she agrees with a nod.

Suit clears his throat, standing. “As for food, Mister Rory, I’ll have breakfast to you directly. In the meantime, my daughter is going to need your help.”

Felicity nods, rolling back and down the hall, gesturing for Mick to follow. After a moment, he does, glancing at Suit wearily over his shoulder. If this is another test…

The room she leads him to looks innocent enough, if a little dark. She makes her way inside without flipping on the lights, and he blinks. It isn’t total darkness; there are nearly a dozen computers scattered around the room, each screen illuminating a small spot.

“So you’re a computer geek,” he mutters, and she laughs.

“No, Mick… I’m _the_ computer geek. Other computer geeks only dream of being as much of a computer geek as me.” She’s different, he notes. More relaxed, now that she isn’t trying to convince him to work for them. (Maybe because he saved her life.) Either way, he huffs in amusement.

“Queen of the geeks.”

“You better believe it.” She glances back, winking at him, before settling in front of one of the computers. “Okay, so, you probably have a few questions.” Her fingers fly over the keyboard, and a few icons appear. Mick’s eyes catch on the background, and he blinks.

“That you?” It’s a picture of suit, a couple of decades younger, with his arm wrapped around an unfamiliar blonde woman, and a girl no more than four leaning back against them.  

She nods, reaching out and tracing the screen. “That’s me and my dad… And mom.” There’s an undeniable melancholy to her tone, and while he doesn’t ask, she fills in anyway. “She died a few days after this was taken. I can’t even remember her. It’s just been me and dad against the world.”

This isn’t his forte, by any means. Leonard’s always been great with comforting words, even if they were just for show. Him? He can’t think of a thing to say. Well, that’s not true, he can think of lots of things, but nothing comforting. Not that he wants to comfort her, exactly, but… He doesn’t have to justify himself, he decides with a scowl.

“Sucks,” he manages, and yeah, that wasn’t great. He knows it. To his surprise, she laughs, if a bit sadly.

“Yeah, it does.” A moment later, she shakes her head, as if shaking off the pain. “Anyway, time to get to work.” She clicks on one of the icons, (maybe a bit viciously, but he isn’t one to judge,) and a new screen appears.

The next few minutes pass in a blur of changing pages and rapid mouse clicks. Mick doesn’t bother trying to keep up. Computers aren’t his thing either, really. Lisa always tells him he should learn, but what’s the point? The best thing about tech is the sparks it makes when it burns, and he doesn’t need a class for that.

Suit drops off a platter, with several slices of bacon, eggs, sausage, and a pancake. Now, this kind of luxury, he could get used to, Mick muses, mouth watering. He crams a piece of bacon in his mouth whole.

Finally, something resembling an email appears, addressed to Peter Michelin. Felicity starts typing, and Mick raises his eyebrows. “Who’s that?”

Without glancing back, she replies. “Peter Michelin is a janitor. He’s been stealing from his company for months.”

“Good on him,” Mick mutters, but she continues.

“So far, no one has caught on. He’s that good. Billions of dollars of tech missing, and no one has been able to catch him.”

“You turning him in?” Originally, he’d assumed they were criminals, but maybe they’re just vigilantes? If so, he’s out. A plan of escape is already taking form in his head when she laughs.

“Of course not! I’m just _threatening_ to turn him in!”

“Ohh. Blackmail. Now, that’s more like it!”

He grins, concerns forgotten. In fairness, blackmail isn’t exactly his style, but he’s flexible. “What do you want him to do?”

“Steal something for me, of course! You see, this company has some… Very unique equipment, and there are some powerful men looking to buy it. If we can get out hands on it first…”

“Gold mine.”

She finishes typing, and the message disappears. “Bingo.”

A few seconds pass, before more words appear on the screen. “ ** _I’ll be there. Give me five days.”_**

Felicity scoffs. “What, so you can have time to figure out how to disappear forever? No, thank you.” “ ** _You have twelve hours,”_** she replies, reading as she types. **_“Unless you want your boss to know the truth.”_**

**_“_ ** **_Where should we meet?”_ **

**_“I’ll find you.”_ **

No reply comes, and Felicity grins. Mick shakes his head, returning his attention to his breakfast. “How’s this gonna work?” He asks through a bite of pancake.

She shrugs. “At…” A glance at the time in the corner of her screen, “Nine o’clock tonight, we’ll show up wherever he is. I’ll get the device, and you will get me out of there alive.”

“’Bout that…” He trails off, searching for the words. The last thing he wants is to upset her again, (only because he might not get paid, of course,) but there’s something he needs to ask. “Who’s trying to kill you?” His eye dart to her chair against his will, and she sighs.

“Look, that… Is a great question, okay? But I can’t-“ Her eyes widen slightly, and she takes a steadying breath. “Not yet. Just keep me alive, okay?”

He knows-he _knows_ with every fiber in his being-that he should press for details. Something is prickling under his skin, an uneasiness he can’t put his finger on. Leonard calls it ‘Alexa,’ and for good reason: That was a disaster. Len’s always been more sensitive to these things, but Mick can hold his own pretty well, and this? It has Alexa written all over it.

Whoever tried to kill her, whoever she expects to try again, Mick has a sinking feeling that they’re out of his league.

And yet…

“Okay. But if I’m gonna do that, I’m gonna need a gun.” Her face lights up, and she nods.

“Right this way!”

She gestures for him to step out of the way, and rolls past him, out of the room, when he does. Grabbing his breakfast, he follows, shaking his head.

“You coming?” She calls over her shoulder, and he scoffs. What is he doing with his life?

“Yeah. Right behind you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da!! Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> The thing with Felicity's nickname was something I was unsure about, but it really felt like Mick WOULD try to call her Wheels, or something related to the chair, until Felicity asked him not to call her that. Hopefully it didn't come off as offensive or anything?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you so much for your patience!!! Until next time, lovelies!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!! We'll get to see Mick for real in the next chapter, and I really look forward to that. Until the next chapter, farewell, my loves!!!


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